


The K-7 Incident

by Gyhl



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bones be exasperated, Crack, Kirk be Kirk, Klingons be Klingon, M/M, Vulcans be Vulcan, off-screen sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyhl/pseuds/Gyhl
Summary: After the conversation in Manager Lurry's office, Koloth has some complaints.





	The K-7 Incident

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when my wife and I are awake at like 4 am and talking in bed. You get crack like this.

To say that Kirk was surprised when the klingon fell into step beside him would be an understatement, but a single, sideways glance told him all he needed to know about the why of the matter. Captain Koloth had not been pleased with his treatment in Manager Lurry’s office. And a single, disgruntled noise from Spock told him the rest: Koloth wasn’t alone.

“And what may I do for you, my dear Captain Koloth?” He made an effort to keep his voice chipper, but not enough to hide his annoyance.

“Why, my dear Captain Kirk, I would just like a word with you.” A pause, and a very pointed look at Spock. “Alone.”

Kirk forced a polite chuckle and stopped walking. He turned to Spock, before pointedly saying, “Well, I’m sure Mr. Spock can entertain your fellows for a few minutes.”

He led Koloth to a conference room and motioned to a chair. Koloth declined, and they stood on opposite sides of the table. The klingon said nothing for a moment, stalking on his side of the table. Someone thrown off by the neutral look on his face might have mistaken it for pacing, but Kirk could see the restrained anger in that look.

“Before you figure out how to best word whatever accusation it is you’re about to throw at me, why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here, Koloth.”

The klingon’s gaze snapped to Kirk, his eyes flashing with anger. He was not accustomed to having his motives called out. It was true; they’d been rerouted by klingon command.

“Insolent _p'takh_.”

Kirk gave in to the urge to roll his eyes, and make a damn showing of it at that. He didn’t know what the word meant, but he knew an insult when he heard one. 

“Are we already at ‘insult each other in varying languages’? I learned some wonderful Orion curses the last time I was in the sector, and I’ve been saving them just for you.”

That was the last straw for the short-tempered klingon. Kirk had no idea what was being screamed at him, but it was insulting, he was sure. Probably a few comments on his parentage, on his being a tin-plated dictator. He didn’t need a translation, really.

There was a stylus on the conference table. And he had a very childish urge to pick the damn thing up and throw it at Koloth. He figured it would go one of two ways after that: Koloth would be so surprised at the childish display that he would shut up, or the klingon would use it as a reason to attack him.

“Koloth-” The interjection was overridden by the klingon, who clearly wasn’t done ranting.

Kirk picked up the stylus and toyed with it for a moment. There was another thing he could do to try and surprise Koloth into shutting up. It _was_ just as childish but so was Koloth’s ranting (and wasn’t _that_ just a childish justification). And so, with a dramatic showing of annoyed body-language, Kirk yelled back across the table. No words, just an inarticulate yell.

It had the desired effect in Kirk’s eyes. Koloth stopped ranting, mid-word from the sound of it, and stared at Kirk. His head was just slightly tilted, as if he was trying to figure out what the point of Kirk yelling had been. The klingon’s eyes went between Kirk’s face and the stylus. The look on his face shifted from angry to… amused? And something else. Kirk would have called it uncertainty if Koloth hadn’t been klingon. Didn’t they, well, _not_ show things like that around enemies?

“Are you planning on throwing that at me next?”

“I was thinking about it.” Kirk admitted.

There was definite surprise on the klingon’s face at that. Yes, he was having a childish impulse. Humans have those; surely Koloth was aware of that.

“You don’t have it in you,” Koloth said derisively.

Kirk was surprised it wasn’t issued as a challenge, but as a simple dismissive comment. That only had the effect of making the impulse worse. Rather than keep it in check, he threw the stylus. His aim was true and it bounced off Koloth’s forehead.

Kirk waited for the retaliation, and after a moment’s consideration, Koloth took a step toward the table. But the look on his face was not one of a man about to launch into another tirade or fight. He was smirking. _Smirking_. And then he started yelling in klingon again. No, not yelling. _Projecting_ it across the room. While Kirk was assuming this was another tirade, it wasn’t anything of the sort. It was poetry. 

“I really wish I had more things to throw at you!” Kirk snapped.

Koloth jumped the table and in a fluid, graceful move threw Kirk back against the wall, his hands around the human’s throat and tightening. Even as Kirk’s hands came up to fight them away, he could see that there was something other than anger in the klingon’s dark eyes. Even the middle of a battle, he recognized that look: lust.

He tried to break the klingon’s hold, but his hands were like steel. He could feel himself slowly sliding down the wall, the pressure on his collarbones driving him. Koloth was going to snap his neck if he kept resisting; he figured his best chance was to go limp and then kick the klingon’s legs out from under him. But as he went limp, the klingon went down with him, almost laying him down. Once on the floor, his hands loosened.

“I have heard stories of your conquests,” Koloth’s voice was husky and almost a purr. “You no doubt have heard of my own. Let there be no doubt; I will be the victor of this.”

Kirk laughed, somewhat uncertainly. Yes, he’d heard about Koloth’s conquests; if the stories were to be believed, Koloth and he were more alike than not. He still wasn’t sure where this had even come from, but what the hell? It could be fun.

“Making love” -an odd choice of words, Kirk knew, but that’s generally what it was for him. Even when it was just fun, it was still a connection, a bond, however temporary. One that, as a captain and a career man, he couldn’t really have long term- “isn’t a battle.”

It was Koloth’s turn to laugh. “This will be fucking, pure and simple, and _that_ is a battle.”

***

Outside the door, Spock’s head was tilted ever so slightly. A blink longer than normal every so often was the only tell that he found something odd going on in what he was hearing. Koloth’s second in command and gunner, however, stood guarding the door against intrusion. They’d heard the love poetry. They just hoped that when Koloth and Kirk emerged, the terran wouldn’t have a bite on his cheek.

***

No one could say that Kirk wasn’t a quick study. Once he saw that Koloth _meant_ battle, he went with it. Both men vying for dominance, both men winning and losing at different points. Clothing was ripped, armor was flung. At one point Koloth threw Kirk into the conference table hard enough to crack it, and a few ribs from the feel of things.

But it was _exhilarating_. The surge of adrenaline _and_ oxytocin; the eventual flood of endorphin that dulled the pain into something sensual instead of painful. He could see why the klingons, war-like as they were, preferred this type of sex. 

***

It lasted nearly an hour. An hour of listening to the klingon captain and his own captain, his _t’hy’la_ , battling the klingon in the most primal of ways. If he were human, he would find the entire thing awkward and annoying. It was good that he was Vulcan and felt no such things. At all.

The two guards showed no such signs of emotion. Despite the klingon captain’s accertaion that they did not bring ‘non-essentials’ with them, Spock had no doubt that Koloth brought his own conquests aboard ship. And he knew from seeing those same ships that the habitable area of the ship was not the largest of spaces. They would be, no doubt, accustomed to this.

The captains finally emerged, dressed but disheveled. Both of them bleeding, both with forming bruises, both of them limping ever so slightly, both of them in torn clothing. It was plain in that moment just how alike the two captains were, despite such major differences between them. In another time and place, they might even have been friends.

The thought, while likely amusing to a human, didn’t amuse Spock. At all. Really. Vulcans do not feel amusement, after all.

Kirk said nothing, not to the klingons and not to Spock. He just nodded to Spock and they went their way, heading back to the transporters to get back to the ship. Kirk’s broken ribs made breathing painful, although he would far prefer to not go see Bones on the best of days.

When they got to sickbay, Bones gave Kirk a judging look but didn’t comment. He simply got Jim a new shirt (he was going to have to refill his supply soon) and started tending to him. It was once he realized the extent of his friend’s injuries that he had to say something.

“How did you manage _this_ on K-7?”

Kirk shrugged. “Koloth and I had… a fight.”

“Fight? Dammit Jim, things are tense enough with them without you and Koloth getting into fights over… whatever it was.”

“Shall I make a report to his high command?” Spock asked. The amusement he definitely didn’t feel was shining through.

“That’s quite alright, Spock.”

“It was quite the lengthy fight.” He paused, certainly not smirking. “And from the sound of it, a quite brutal fight.”

Jim actually started and then sighed. “It’s _fine_ , Spock.”

Bones looked from one to the other, and back again, and then at Jim. “Jim, what happened?”

“Bones.” Kirk gave in and shrugged. “The same thing that always happens when I leave the ship.”

***

Koloth’s officers followed him, occasionally exchanging prompting looks with each other. They were not cowards, no real klingon was, but neither of them wanted to ask about this. Although they _had_ been relieved to see the lack of a bite mark.

“So,” one of them began finally, and in klingonese, “the great James T. Kirk _can_ be conquered.”

Koloth laughed, throwing his head back. It was a warrior’s laugh, the laugh of one who has just left a glorious battle. “Conquered? No. His heart has klingon in it; he will not be conquered.”

Both officers exchanged a glance again. They had never heard Koloth give such a compliment to any non-klingon.


End file.
